Maverick
by MojoFix
Summary: Sam meets a woman with as many issues as Callen, as much spunk as Kensi, humour darker than Deeks', smarts like Nell & Eric and a misterious touch that gives Hetty a run for her money. Sam/OC
1. Maverick

A/N: My personal Challenge: I use ten random words for each chapter (they're they ones shown in bold).

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN NCIS: LOS ANGELES.

"Federal Agents! Put down your weapon. Now!" Sam's voice rang clear down the **town hall's** corridor.

"I'm putting it down. I'll slid it across the floor, all right?" The accent was British, lower class. "But first, I want to see some ID." Well that was rare. Callen raised his eyebrows as his partner lowered his weapon and stuck his hand out, badge and all. "Okay. I'm sliding it now." A matte black .45 1911 skidded down the hallway to Sam's feet.

"Come out from the wall with your hands where I can see them." The woman did as she was told and the two agents got their first good look at her.

She was tall and slender, clad only in black: a tight corset top and loose linen pants. There was a hold-all over her shoulder, and she had two gloved hands out in front of her. Long black waves were pulled into a tight ponytail, throwing into sharp relief her big, gunmetal gray eyes and razor sharp cheekbones.

"Drop the bag." Sam instructed. She did and it thunked as it hit the ground. An earring she wore distracted Sam: it was the blue and yellow feathers of a **parrot**, and it was only in her left ear – there wasn't one in her right. "Come closer." She did. "Stop." She was two feet away and her lips quirked up in a smirk.

Callen cuffed her and Sam looked her over. Her body had that… **X-factor** that appealed to him: she was athletic but curvy, like a dancer. Her legs went on for miles and when she walked she had a confident sway to her hips. When he looked at her face, her lidded eyes told him she knew what he was thinking.

"What's your name?" He asked. She looked him straight in the eye.

"Maverick."

"What kinda name is that?" She shrugged, and it meant everything and nothing.

"**Google** it." When they reached the Challenger, Callen opened the door, pulled the seat forward and stepped back so she could get in. "I knew I should have gone to **San Francisco**." She muttered.

"You wanna tell us what's going on?" Callen asked form he front seat.

"I plead the Fifth." She said, calm as ever.

"What?"

"The Fifth Amendment to the Constitution of the United States. The right to remain silent. You're feds. You should know it as well as the **Ten Commandments**." Callen rolled his eyes, but either she didn't see or she didn't care. Sam swiped all the origami figures he'd made out of **napkins** off the dash and put all Callen's rubbish in a **Cracker Jacks** box.

As he started the car, he peeked at the woman in his back seat. Her eyes flashed when she caught him looking and she arched a brow. He looked away and started the drive to the boat shed, blaming his goose bumps on the **cold season**.

By the time they reached the boatshed, the woman hadn't said a word. She seemed content to uphold her **union** with the Fifth.


	2. Profiled

**Chapter Two: Profiled**

Sam and Callen both had their arms crossed as they leaned against the table in the boatshed. Nate was looking at them both with his standard I'm-sympathetic-and-quietly-contemplative look.

"She won't talk." Callen sighed. "We were hoping maybe you could get something from her."

"Well, where did you find her?"

"Town hall." Sam answered. "She was shooting at the same guys we were shooting at, on the Arina case. They got away, she didn't."

"Did she shoot at you?" The two agents looked at each other.

"No…" Callen said. "But she didn't have a badge, and when we went through her personal effects… Well, lets just say, illegal doesn't even begin to cover it. And she doesn't have any prints."

"Everyone has prints." The psychologist blinked.

"Not everyone, apparently. Nothing. Nada." He wiggled his fingers. "They've been removed.

"That can't be common…"

"It's not." Callen ran a hand over his face. "We got nothing. No **prior** **work** **history**, no address, no nothing. Just the name Maverick. That's it." Sam's phone rang, and he put it one speaker.

"Talk to us, Eric."

"_I got a rush job on the DNA sample you sent me. No I mean, really, really rush job, so you guys owe me! Anyway, all that came up was a completely redacted file. Even the photo was blacked out. There was no title on the paper. Nothing. Sorry guys._" The tech hung up. Sam swore a blue steak, and Callen looked at Nate.

"Your turn." Nate looked at the monitor and the woman in the room. She was sitting casually in one of the two chairs in the room drumming a beat on the table. Her hair was still up, but she was facing away from the camera.

"Has she looked up at the camera?" He asked. Callen thought for a minute, then shook his head.

"No, now that I'm thinking about it…" Nate just nodded, a contemplative frown crinkling his brow like paper, and walked into the interview room.

"I'm Doctor Nate Getz." He shook her hand.

"Nice to meet you, doc. I'm Maverick."

"No real name?"

"Do I need one?" He cleared his throat.

"Can you tell me what you were doing firing at people at the town hall?" She shrugged. "Why were you there?"

"Dunno."

"Were you lost?"

"_I'm not lost, for I know where I am. But however, where I am may be lost._"

"Excuse me?"

"Quote, from **Winnie the Pooh**."

"You've read Winnie the Pooh?" That interested him. The hard quality to her eyes didn't make him think of the fairy tale reading type.

"Can I go to the **bathroom**?" She asked.

"You can, if you answer my questions." Her smile was mischievous and taunting. She leaned across the table, stretching that long, slim body, and whispered in his ear.

"Pass." When she pulled back, she winked one grey eye at his shocked expression. "You ever heard Turn the Page, by Metallica?"

"No."

"It's a good **song**."

"That's got nothing to do with our investigation."

"Look, I'm not under arrest. I'm not facing a **lawsuit**. I'm not gonna listen to all your red white and blue **propaganda**, I'm not going to tell you jack." She smiled as she spoke. "So, NCIS, and all those other wonderful Federal **Authorities**, can go take a long walk off a short plank." She leaned back in her seat. "You can ask me questions though, if you want."

"Okay then." He straightened his file. "Can you tell me anything about the investigation into Damien Arina?" She put a finger to her lip.

"You know, getting **head-shots** in C.O.D isn't quite as shocking as the real thing?"

"Please, answer the question."

"Will you post it on **Twitter** if I do?" She fidgeted. "Can I have some **orange** **juice**?" Nate clenched his jaw.

"You said you would answer questions…"

"I don't believe I did. I said you could _ask_ questions. Not that I would answer them."

Nate tried again and again and again to get her to talk to him. She would just rebuff him with random questions and inane fun-facts. Finally, when his nerves were almost too thin, he came to a realisation. Quickly excusing himself, he slipped out of the room.

The two agents looked at him expectantly.

"Firstly," he said, "She's profiling me."

"What?" they asked simultaneously.

"She's trying to figure me out, get under my skin."

"Is it working?" Sam asked. Nate ran a hand down his face and let out a frustrated sigh.

"Hell yes. Secondly, she's stalling."

"Stalling? What for?" He just shook his head.

"I have absolutely no idea."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three: I see you**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own NCIS: Los Angeles**

Callen was at his wits end. He'd tried talking to Maverick, but she'd driven him crazy. She hardly even answered him anymore, and her poker face was one of the best he'd ever seen. He had absolutely _not_ **discovered** anything new.

"Sam, if we don't get something out of her, this case is going nowhere. She's our only lead!" His partner just stared at the screen. That's what he'd been doing the whole time – just watching her. "Hello? Earth to Sam!" The big man jumped out of his daze.

"Ahh, yeah, sure."

"You wanna talk to her?" Right then, the door to the boatshed swung open and Assistant Director Granger walked in.

"Let her out." He ordered.

"Why?"

"Don't question me, Agent Callen, just do it." The man was pissed, and it was about more than Callen's questioning. He made a mental note to find out what as bugging the bastard.

Callen went ahead and brought her out of the interrogation room, with her hands cuffed behind her back.

"Take those off." Maverick just looked Granger in the eye. She didn't smile, she didn't frown. If it weren't for the royally pissed look on Grangers' face, Sam wouldn't have been able to tell they knew each other.

When she had her hands free, Maverick absently rubber her wrists.

"Nothing like cuffs to make your day go well, right, ducks?" Her voice was honey, it ran all over Sam, spread down his back and made his hair stand on end.

"I think we all have some explaining to do." Granger indicated that she take a seat, but she shook her head.

"Lets just get to it, yeah?"

"Of course. These," he indicated the two agents, "are G Callen and Sam Hanna. Now how about you tell me what the _hell_ you were thinking, getting involved in my investigation!"

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, mate. First off," She counted on her fingers, "its _not_ your investigation – so you can go shove it. Second, I don't answer to you, so you can stop being such a dick. Third, you don't scare me, Granger, you don't even make me break a sweat, so shut the fuck up, sit down, and tell me why I shouldn't get **creative** on your face with a ka-bar." Her eyes burned while she spoke, and it took Sam a second to realise he was holding his breath. Granger ground his teeth, but sat down anyway. "That's a good boy…" She cooed.

Sam had been absolutely mesmerised when she'd slapped Granger to the ground. He'd never thought grey eyes could blaze before! He watched her body move, gracefully, sensually and to rhythm apparently only she could hear. How did someone get a body like that? Dancing? **Yoga**? She reminded him of a **landslide**: a big, scary, get-the-fuck-out-of-my-way landslide.

"Now will you explain?" She started to pace, apparently ignoring Granger's question. Her steps were silent, as Sam was struck with the thought that she was a panther pacing in her cage. She looked out the window for a moment.

"It's late. Isn't it **after hours** for you guys?"

"No rest for the wicked." Callen supplied.

"You don't strike me as wicked." Was her only reply. Minutes ticked away, and while Sam did want to know what was going on, he was content with watching her. He had been all day. After an age passed, and she seemed to have grown tired of wearing a hole in the **concrete**, she turned back to Granger.

"What do you want to know?"

"What you were doing at the town hall."

"Maybe I just needed to go to the **library**."

"Nice try, I suggest you co operate with us."

"Or what?"

"I can make your life miserable."

"You could, if I didn't have **nothing to lose**, Owen." She said his name like an insult. For the first time since they'd picked her up, she looked at Sam.

He felt a shock go through him when she pinned him with her eyes and he took a minute to study them. They were hard and cold – there was no give in them. She was a girl – no, a woman – who didn't take shit. Of any kind. They were charcoal with storm clouds and wood smoke. They were every shade of grey imaginable and he was swept in them. He had to remind himself that this was a case and she was a suspect, not some piece of ass in a bar he was trying to pick up for the night. Despite that, his blood ran a little warmer.

"What about you?" She murmured. "You haven't asked me any questions, luv."

"I've got the same questions as them." He tired to keep his words small, in case his feelings came out – that wouldn't end well.

"No," she shook her head, "methinks your questions would be much, _much_ more interesting…" Before he could do more than blink, her expression went back to one of cold professionalism. "You're the kind of bloke who only picks up the phone after it rings three times when you're **home alone**."

"How do you know that?" He crossed then uncrossed his arms while she coked her head to the side and shrugged.

"You're ex-special ops. Army-DELTA? Green Berets? No, you're Navy. SEALs?" He tired not to show how close to home she hit. "And you," she addressed Callen, "CIA trained? Undercover ops. Quite the chameleon, I imagine."

"What makes you say that?" Callen replied. Her eyes softened just a touch.

"I used to know a man like you once."

"What happened to him?"

"He decided it was lights out for him…. **Nap-time**, if you catch my drift." Granger cleared his throat. "Oh. Yeah. Forgot about you." Somehow Sam doubted that.

"The CIA said you could read me in." Granger still sounded pissed as fuck.

"Right. Well, to put it bluntly – I'm on the warpath. Stay out of my way."


	4. Chapter 4

It took hours of bargaining and Granger cutting a very secret deal for Maverick to come around and explain he involvement to NCIS. Sam didn't quite understand why she wasn't under arrest, or who she was. Nobody did. He wasn't sure even Grange knew who he was dealing with.

Eventually, they got her back to ops, which Hetty was a world of pissed about, and made introductions to the team. Kensi introduced herself with a smile.

"I'm Special Agent Kensi Blye." Maverick's grey eyes stayed cold and Kensi's smile fell a little. "Well, fine. If you wanna be like that." Still Maverick said nothing.

"Easy, tiger." Deeks chimed, grinning at Maverick and calming Kensi all in one.

"My apologies." Maverick's voice was **velvet** and Sam tensed all over. "You have beautiful eyes." Kensi seemed taken aback, but the black haired rogue didn't seem to mind. She nodded at Deeks and, much to Sam's relief, didn't seem swayed by his charm. Although, why the hell Sam was allowed to feel relieved about that, he had no idea.

"Ms. Maverick." Hetty's voice was quiet but demanding, and Maverick turned towards her, every move calculated and graceful.

"Just Maverick. Or M, whatever rocks your boat." Sweet Jesus, Sam almost had to shut his eyes at her voice. He hoped Hetty hadn't noticed.

"Hmm." Hetty seemed displeased. "I must say I do not agree with your presence here."

"Neither do I." The sly smirk was just window dressing, there was a word of pissed off under that knock out look. "I'd really rather be outside doing my job."

"And what is your job?" Hetty's eyebrow raised but Maverick, foolishly, Sam believed, didn't seem bothered.

"**Time will tell.**" She purred. "We all know how often the CIA change their minds."

"You are a CIA Agent?" It turned out, M's laugh cut Sam as deep as her voice did. It was a sexy chuckle, full of promises, of mischief.

"No. The CIA needed someone with '**Experience Preferred'** for this job. As in, the real thing, not: I'm an Agent; Shoot Me, which is what all feds look like. Except him." She pointed at Deeks. "But he's not a fed, is he?"

"What makes you say that?" Hetty was more interested now.

"If you can't figure that out, lady, you're in the wrong line of work. Now, can I get back to my business now?" Hetty nodded, and Maverick took her bag from Sam, pulling it open and rooting through it until she found her cell phone. She pushed a few buttons and got a dial tone.

"Loud speaker please." Granger requested. Maverick grudgingly obliged.

"_Yeah, what?_" The phone was picked up on the third ring.

"That a way to treat a lady, babe?" She purred.

"_You're in trouble again, Triple M?_" The man on the other end chuckled.

"Yeah, but that's not why I'm calling. Although it's nice to know you'd send out the search parties…"

"_You know I'd paint the city red looking for you._" Sam heard a door close on the other end of the line.

"You're a **poet**, love, you really are."

"_Okay, I'm alone, cut the crap. What's doing?_"

"NCIS wants Damien Arina. I nearly had him this morning, but they started shooting the shit down at the town hall, and he's a gonner. Took to the breeze an' all that."

"_You gonna try for him again?_"

"Yeah."

"_What do you need from me?_"

"Go to my place. I'm squared away. Pick up my bag, go get my car from the town hall. Take all my stuff to point 84. I'll pick it up later."

"_Are you gonna go all 'I am an island' on my ass again?_" She chuckled, low and sweet.

"That's not a **scenario** I'd like to toy with."

"_Good to know. I'll hit you back when I can._" There was a long pause. "_M__**?**_"

"Yeah?"

"_Rule 13_."

"Always." Then he hung up. She put the phone back, then turned to the team. "I'm a mercenary." Gasps all round. "I've been hired by the CIA to bring in Damien Arina. I don't know what for, I didn't ask. I'm going to do it. You can either be a help or a hindrance."

"Why don't we just arrest you?"

"You try putting me in cuffs again, Hollywood, I'll put you out on the street like a living, breathing sleeping police man. Or maybe not so living and breathing…" Deeks raised his eyebrows, but wisely shut the fuck up.

"Why did they not send Agents?" Hetty asked.

"Because Agents look like Agents and Arina is a smart man. You all smell like training and uniforms and moral code. I don't."

"Do you have any idea why Damien Arina is in Los Angeles?"

"There was an increase in drugs brought in from the south. With the **influx** over the past few months, everyone's making like a **Gold Rush** and coming to LA. That's why I'm here: rule 92, always follow the money."

"What's rule 13?" Sam dared to ask. She smirked and looked him up and down.

"Well, well, well… He does speak." She winked and Sam tensed. "Rule 13: Always watch your six."

Eventually, since Hetty couldn't stop her, Maverick had gone out. The team watched her on the street's security cameras from up in ops. She caught a train and a few buses and arrived at a shack on the beach, made entirely of **plywood**, where she walked up to a dark red Maserati Granturismo.

There was a man leaning up against it, but he had place himself in such a way that photo ID was impossible. They spoke a quick few words, the **winter** wind slapping them both in the face, then he got in shotgun and she drove him a bus station. She was back in under an hour.


End file.
